


Two Spiders, One Body

by Prinxe_Procrastinate



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Just a mention of Jack Morrison briefly, Kinda schoolwork, Prompt Fic, That's it that's the cast, Widowmaker and Reaper are friendos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8626246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinxe_Procrastinate/pseuds/Prinxe_Procrastinate
Summary: Widowmaker had a husband and good friends, once. That all disappeared within minutes.---Based off of this prompt I was given in my Creative Writing class:“She started to record the argument. What she ended up recording was her own death.” How is the story told from this point? What is going to happen?





	

The camera was set off to the side of the room. Amélie hid it from direct sight, consequently cutting off a third of the left frame, but still affording a rather good view of the living room. She’s sitting on the loveseat, legs crossed demurely, watching her husband go about his business. Earlier she had voiced her concerns to the camera, listing reasons for suspicion such as hearing a foreign song being played on repeat throughout their day, always turned up loud enough that Gérard can barely hear her over it, even his daily routines being switched in a way she knows he doesn’t like. At least, he didn’t like.

“Gérard, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong, I swear! Why would you think there’s anything wrong with me??”

Gérard angrily storms by the camera, the blur of his pants rushing by unfocused the camera for a moment, until it refocused on Amélie's face, her worried, unhappy face. “Gérard, you’ve been acting really out of character ever since you came back from that mission. Please, just tell me what happened.”

There’s desperation in both of their voices, by now. Gérard's face is still not visible, his legs occasionally passing by the lens. He’s pacing, quietly, across the plush carpet. Amélie hasn’t moved from her seat on the small sofa. The argument quickly escalates, their voices growing louder, Amélie standing from her seat to approach Gérard. 

In all, the recording of the argument is only six minutes long. There’s a minute and a half beforehand of Amélie's concerns, a recording of her thoughts for whoever finds the camera. At the end of the sixth minute, static cuts in, lingering for several minutes. At twelve minutes, the static dissipates, leaving the view tilted slightly, more of the room visible, and Amélie's legs. Gérard is sprawled across the carpet in full view, his eyes blank and empty. Blood seeps through the carpet below him, and his body and the loveseat hide the majority of Amélie's body. Even with the limited view of her, the camera cannot miss her legs being pulled up, completely disappearing from the camera.

The camera automatically stops recording after an hour of inactivity. Four hours later, when the agents arrive, they nearly miss the camera. When they deliver the camera and the footage to Strike-Commander Morrison, they had no idea what had happened.

Nearly thirty years later, the Widowmaker receives a serious blow to the head, toppling down a mountainside, left for dead by the Talon operatives she had been covering for. When she comes to four minutes later, she is alone, slumped against a cold, dead tree, and she can  _ remember. _

“Widowmaker, state your position.”

“Widowmaker, where are you?!”

“Widowmaker, respond!”

“Widowmaker, for God’s sake, I’ve been yelling at you for the last five minutes! Respond!”

“Widow… maker?”

The deep, rough voice is silent for a moment, lessening the ache in her head. “Amelie?”

“Yes?”

“Where are you?”

Amélie describes her environment. The voice affirms that he is coming to help her. Just two minutes later, dark smoke emerges from the shadows in front of her. A tall, dark man forms out of the darkness, crouching down in front of Amélie, putting a gentle, clawed hand on her cheek, almost gingerly.

“I’m so sorry.”

In two weeks, the Widowmaker has been cleared to return to the field. She has no memory of what happened on the mountain except for the faint feel of the Reaper’s gravelly voice in her head, and a soft touch on her cheek.


End file.
